


Mummer's Dance

by sian1359



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Apologies, Control, Dog Tags, M/M, Mild Kink, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-18
Updated: 2007-01-18
Packaged: 2018-02-05 03:42:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1803991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sian1359/pseuds/sian1359
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're just trying to get back to even.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mummer's Dance

**Author's Note:**

> Discovered another fic I hadn't archived here yet.
> 
> Title from the song of the same name by Loreena McKennitt
> 
> Written for the 2006 Carson/John Solstice Fic Exchange. 
> 
> I've only written this pairing as part of a threesome/foursome in the past, and found it surprisingly difficult, although I love reading about the two of them together.
> 
> This was written for orion_fics,

********

_Love takes off masks that we fear we cannot live without and know we cannot live within. --James Baldwin_

"Oh my God, Ginny, did you hear? Not only do we have our very own Dr. McDreamy here --"

"MacDreamy!"

"Yes, yes, MaacccDreamy, so sorry. What I really mean, though is that it turns out he's part Braveheart too!"

Carson Beckett dinna make a habit of lurking around corners and eavesdropping on other folks conversations. Sometimes when it is his staff, aye, because occasionally there are things he needs to hear about that aren't always things they feel comfortable in saying to his face. And maybe he is hearing the odd thing or two between his friends that he mayhap should nae be, but only to then be able to offer assistance to them in one form or another, since most of his friends nae only dinna blather on like Rodney and complain about everything wee thing, but they actively keep mute about important things, like injuries that Carson really, really needs to know about.

Others of the senior staff do the eavesdropping thing more: Elizabeth, even John, and most especially Rodney. Who believes that eavesdropping and staying out of sight of his staff to overhear nae only what they be nae talking to him about, but also what they be saying about Rodney, are valuable management tools.

Atlantis is a closed environment, and too often for Carson, listening in feels more like an invasion of privacy than an exercise in good leadership skills. All the more so when the conversationalists are folks he doesn't know. Not only is Atlantis a duty station and workplace, but for many of them, it is also home.

And Carson Beckett does nae spy on his neighbors.

On the other hand, the horrendous accent is a dead give away even without the Braveheart reference; these two women are talking about him. He supposes it is better to be compared to the fictional Derek Shepherd than the fictional Gregory House, even if House is the much better doctor. Being just off the _Daedelus_ , these women would have no idea of whether Carson is a talented doctor or not, and apparently only care (at least for now) that he is in the same category of looks with one aptly named Dr. McDreamy. Which is something usually reserved for _John_ Sheppard by the new arrivals. Or for Ronon, if they be after someone more native and exotic.

"Apparently Team One was taking a pounding on Sateda," the unidentified one continued. "Oh, Sateda is apparently the world that yummy Ronon Dex --"

And there it was.

"-- came from. Laura said the Wraith culled _every_ body there and … fine, too many details. My point is, Ginny, that Team One had gone back there for some reason and, as is happening on more and more missions, the team ran afoul of the Wraith. Not just a couple of the opportunistic Darts either. A Hive ship, or at least one of the cruisers, is what the rumor mill is saying. And the Wraith were _hunting_ our people instead of trying to cull them. Were winning too, is what I heard from Trish, who got trapped into giving Dr. McKay his post-mission medical. The team was taking just a horrible beating. Right up until Dr. Beckett, of all people, was forced to fly the puddlejumper down into the middle of the firefight. He launched a drone attack that stopped the leader just as he'd lowered his hand to Ronon's chest …"

That would have certainly been some trick if it had really been the way it had happened. No one had forced Carson to fly the puddlejumper, however. John had, in fact, instructed him and Rodney to stay the hell away from any of the multitude of lifesign readings they had picked up upon arrival; had ordered them to be keeping the 'jumper cloaked and hidden, and to be avoiding getting involved in the conflict unless they were called in to provide an emergency extraction. Upon seeing the number of Wraith that Ronon had been up against, though, Carson couldn't just watch and leave the rescue up to John and Teyla. Ever since he'd been called to take out the Wraith tracking device from Ronon's back, Carson had felt a somewhat proprietary interest in maintaining Ronon's wellbeing. Not to mention that John had also been out there risking his own life.

So when Rodney had stopped him from taking up one of the P-90s and actually heading out to offer another gun, (contrary to orders or thoughts of self-preservation), Carson had flown them in closer. The Wraith's propensity for taunting his prey and beating and throwing Ronon around before draining him had kept the two combatants separated long enough that Carson could fire one of the ship's drones. It took out the Wraith not when they were in close-combat, with the leader's hand just reaching for Ronon's chest, but at one of those points in which they were separated, as otherwise he would have been adding Ronon's body parts to the debris that already filled the streets of the ruined city too --

"Oooh, Laura, this way!" the one who'd been identified as Ginny suddenly called out.

Laura? There are multiple Laura's on the expedition. Even one of his nurses is named Laura, and indeed she would be the type to gossip about what the medical staff might glean from post-mission check-ups --

"You used to date Dr. McDreamy --"

Damn, nae Laura Corvello then, because Carson would never date someone who works for him even were he interested in her. Nay, they could only be calling out to Laura Cadman -- Lieutenant Laura Cadman of the United States Marine Corp. Just one of the many mistakes Carson has made since coming to Atlantis, but somehow, still a friend.

"-- do you think he would he go for someone like me? Or is he only interested in you overly athletic and limber, military types?"

Eavesdropping on strangers talking about him is one thing. Hearing someone he'd dated and actually tried to sustain a relationship with talking about their time together, however, is definitely nae something Carson needs to be hearing about. He and Laura had gotten together for too many of the wrong reasons, the chief of which being that he'd allowed himself to be convinced that it would be easier -- and better all around -- for him to enter into a _normal_ relationship rather than to continue with the one in which he'd been involved at the time.

Laura had seen through it -- seen through him. She had been a bonny and compassionate lass, pulling the plug soon enough on what he'd been trying to force. Just as she'd also been sharp enough to figure out where Carson's interest truly rested, and discreet enough not to be making a tempest about it.

Then or, (Carson is still confident), now, despite the rules of her military.

As Carson slips away and heads toward the nearest transporter, Ginny and the other woman are starting to ask Laura some highly personal -- and totally inappropriate -- questions.

Och, and women complain about the conversations men share.

Once inside the transporter, Carson lets the doors close, but does nae go about programming in a destination right off. He'd been planning to go back to his room to change before heading out to one of the common areas to see what this current supply run of the _Daedalus_ has brought. He had hoped to relax a bit after the long bloody ride aboard the _Daedelus_ to Sateda (and the quick gate trip return), before turning in for the night, only to have to spend the next couple of hours overseeing that Ronon and Rodney both be treated and tucked in for their night's stay in the infirmary.

He (like John and Teyla due to the injuries their teammates sustained), has the next forty-eight hours off from all duties except an emergency. This being the first time he's had a block of free time coincide with the _Daedalus_ ' initial arrival is something he is looking forward to taking advantage of, even if those he normally spends his free time with won't be. These first few days after the ship's arrival are generally rather festive when the _Daedalus_ isn't responding to the crisis _de jour_ , as new dvds, music, games and books are being offloaded along with the cheerful and awed new faces, plus some of the food and drink from Earth that they'd so far been unable to find here in Pegasus.

Like chocolate flakes, barks and buttons, and proper flavored chips, crisps and biscuits. Like blackcurrant juice and ginger beer. All of which never lasts in sufficient quantity beyond the initial week and, therefore, become items of trade and barter more than comforts and reminders of hearth and home.

Had either Ronon or Rodney's injuries been serious enough to require continual care, Carson would have at least stayed on call to the infirmary, relying then only on the little gifts and bribes his staff is wont to gather for him, to wait and see the movies or pick up the newest book by a favorite author long after others have had their chances. As both men are really more in mild pain than in bodily distress, however …

Frankly, Carson has enough of his own distress to deal with and put behind him, at least for one night.

Except now he is nae really sure he can; is nae sure he will be able to find proper distraction in whosever movie choice has won the evening lottery, or in the simple enjoyment of interacting with a proper group of people about something other than work. He certainly dinna want to spend an evening fending off the advances of someone who likens him to a movie actor or a star on the stupid telly.

Not when he has had someone who appreciates and is attracted to who he is as a man, blunders, warts and all.

Not until he knows _for sure_ that the warts and blunders they both have are now simply too-bloody-much to overlook.

 

Carson abruptly feels a push against his awareness that, for the most part like every other bit of Ancient technology, he wants desperately to ignore but canna. Were it nae the transporter gently chivvying him to pick a destination, no doubt it would be someone else eventually, complaining to Control that the system does nae seem to be working and then Radek (since Rodney was on medical leave), would be coming down to investigate and discover that the only problem is a dithering fool . While Atlantis is nae sentient, nae even having an self-contained AI interface according to Rodney (and despite what it sometimes felt like -- especially when seated in the combat chair), it does still interact directly with those who possessed his naively and childishly named Ancient Technology Activation gene. The stalled transporter is simply a prompt waiting to be clicked, a blinking cursor of sorts, only one in his mind instead of flashing warning on the control panel across from the door. Although it be doing that too.

Just one more thing to be ratcheting up his blood pressure.

There are times when Carson regrets agreeing to join the expedition. Being a geneticist and nae normally a general practitioner or, god bless and keep him, a trauma surgeon, his sense of wonder and burning desire to unravel the unknown has pretty much been limited to the mysteries of the human genome. And while he does appreciate and find satisfaction in diagnosing and dispensing medical care, the fact is that too often he has been called upon to deal with life-threatening emergencies. He's always had a problem maintaining any sort of detachment from his patients, even those who were complete strangers. Here, though, all too often he is treating friends….

The other surprising thing of his regrets (as almost everybody has expressed such a sentiment at least once from the time of their arrival), is that he has been feeling this unrest more often during these last few months than he had throughout their entire first year. That despite when, for all everyone knew, they were cut off from Earth forever and destined to become the main entrée at The Restaurant at the End of the Universe otherwise known as Atlantis, he'd been happier -- or at least content -- with where he was in his life.

Now that contact with Earth has been restored, they've gotten an influx of new personnel, which has allowed him to return to his research. Exactly what he has been wanting. Yet what is the first thing he be doing? Creating a retrovirus that nae only dinna work properly, but damn near put the entire expedition -- and Earth -- at risk. That bloody well nearly _killed_ John and still managed to mutate him into something wholly inhuman before Carson managed to produce a cure. Then there be the wee question about the morality of his research in general. Carson knows he has made nae only ethically ambiguous choices but also some horrendous decisions. Too many of which, in Carson's countless nightmares, John pretty much personifies, either in suffering from their application and the resultant consequences like the mutation, or in John being forced to face his own moral quandaries in whether to support or disagree with Carson.

Support him John did, even when John disagreed -- even when John probably should nae have. Supported Carson decisions right up until the end, right up until the moment Carson _needed_ John's trust the most. John had managed to find that kind of trust for Rodney (admittedly John's best friend), but nae for Carson -- for John's own lover?

Oh, Lord Almighty! What if it had been exactly like that? In many ways Carson's work with Michael _could_ be compared to Rodney's work on Doranda -- especially as it was John's support of each proposal that was likely the final convincing factor for Elizabeth. Doranda had ended with the explosion of three quarters of a solar system, something Carson knows that John's still feels at fault for despite it being Rodney's inability to control the energies Rodney was working with. And Michael … not a solar system, but still a planet was rendered inhabitable and all life contained thereon killed either in the initial blast or now dying a horrible, slow death as the eco-system fell to the ravishes of radioactivity. The nuke had been John's decision, John's solution to Carson's fuck-up.

Only the worst fuck-up was to their relationship.

Carson knows it is irrational to be angry at John, when for the most part, the fallout (irony intended) be Carson's own fault. Of course, he is also angry that John has nae shown enough interest in their relationship to call Carson to task about his unreasonableness. John certainly told _Rodney_ he would have to earn his trust again -- yet only after Rodney had tracked him down and confronted him directly. Something Carson has been loathed to do, both out of fear for the potential outcome, and because Carson just is nae confrontational. In truth, neither be John -- except when pushed into it. And maybe it really is Carson's turn -- Carson's responsibility.

If nothing else, the excruciatingly polite, totally artificial détente between them really needs to end. One way or the other.

Directing the transporter, this time Carson lets it complete its function. Only to find himself pausing once more now that he's reached John's room. It is only mid-evening, technically the last hour of the formal dinner service in the commissary, yet there is a good probability that John is asleep. He certainly _should_ be. Between the initial mission where Ronon had been taken, and then the planning and the rescue, the only sleep either John or Teyla has managed in the last sixty or so hours has been when they were rendered unconscious by the kidnappers. Plus maybe a catnap on the _Daedelus_ during the journey to Sateda although Carson doubts John allowed himself to relax that much. Not given the clash John and Colonel Caldwell had gotten into about mounting the rescue in the first place.

If Carson pursues his desire to deal with all of this now, he will be practically ambushing John, not to mention disregarding his own medical instructions (for all that he'd had one of his nurses be the one to shoo John out of the infirmary once Rodney and Ronon had been moved back into post op and sedated for the night). If Carson were to leave, however, he is nae sure when he'll work up the courage to consider trying this again. It's been a damn sight easier to ignore their disagreements -- ignore each other -- since circumstances and almost daily crises have been keeping them too busy to realize how they've been avoided one another.

The decision is taken out of his hands when the door in front of Carson opens. John is nae standing there behind it, however, which leads Carson to wonder if he's subconsciously nudged the technology interface himself, or if maybe Atlantis has opened it on her own despite Rodney's assertions that she doesn't have the sentience to do that. In the deepest part of his fey Scottish soul, Carson fears Atlantis has the sentience to do just about anything anyone in the expedition could do, or maybe it's just that they have an ascended Ancient hanging around a lot more often than the one who had shown herself to Dr. Jackson. Given John's past track record with ascended women, Carson canna be sure if the door opening is for their benefit -- maybe she's just tired of Carson's dithering too, and hopes to force the issue and cause a permanent break-up.

Light spilling from the corridor and across John's bed renders these thoughts moot as, with a speed that Carson still isn't used to (even with having seen it more than a handful of times in response to a late night emergency) John jerks awake. He is rising and reaching for the pair of pants and the holstered gun that always remains within a hand's reach even before the lights achieve their full illumination.

"Och, no, John. It nae be anything you'll be needing those for," Carson gestures to the gun. He feels the blush begin to rise on his face for nae thinking about what his sudden appearance now would have John believing. "I'm sorry. There is naught wrong with Ronon, Rodney or anyone else, nor any other emergency. I simply …I was just thinking … Can I come in?"

John is nae likely to say nay; curiosity alone would have him wanting an explanation for why he was awakened. Carson still has a moment to wish John would, to wish he had nae overheard those women's stupid conversation or that at least he'd waited until morning. He's nae ready for this. He has caught John off guard, nae only in having been asleep, but for once John is without any of the masks Carson has too often been subjected to recently. John does nae just look tired -- he looks wrecked. Pale and tense and oddly vulnerable as he nods and lets himself drop back down on the bed, the constant hardness around John's mouth and eyes nae so much the expected anger or manufactured calm, as maybe pain. Like maybe Carson is nae the only one hurting from recent happenstances -- or their estrangement.

This scares Carson even more.

"They are calling me McDreamy now!" he finds himself blurting out and then blushing further in shame because this is a bloody stupid reason to have awakened John. The whine in his tone and the exaggeration in his accent (that he can't help because of how those horrid women had said it), would be bad enough without him blathering the first inane thing on his mind just as Rodney does when panicked.

"McDreamy?" John repeats with a rasp to his voice, a raised brow and maybe just a touch of a smirk. Thankfully his response looks and sounds more nonplussed than upset at Carson's interruption.

"He's a character on one of your American medical shows that my nurses are addicted to," Carson continues channelling Rodney McKay. "He's actually a Doctor Shepherd, which is ironic or maybe I mean serendipitous, but the press and tabloids call him McDreamy, and his rival is called McSteamy and --"

"And you would prefer to be acknowledged as House?" comes with more of the smirk, that then disappears almost as quickly as does the burgeoning warmth and laughter. "Or is it that you're worried your nurses might start calling you McDreamy Sheppard and you've --"

"Actually, it's more like Dr. Braveheart McDreamy -- because of what I ended up doing on Sateda," Carson interrupts before John can voice his accusation, or grow even more concerned about Carson's nurses or the tenor of their gossip. "And that's nae from my nurses anyway. It's two of Laura's friends, just here off the _Daedelus_."

This sends another shadow of darkness passing through John's eyes which, contrarily, gives Carson his own frission of excitement and hope that just maybe he _can_ salvage what they have between them. If John, who'd been the one to suggest he try things with Laura in the first place, still cares enough to feel jealous from Carson just mentioning Laura's name or because someone else might be interested…

"I dinna want to be anyone's Dr. McDreamy," he states, just barely stopping himself from taking the few steps between him and the bed, and to reach out and smooth the furrows between John's brows. "So what will it be taking?"

John drops his gaze. "I suppose that depends on what you _do_ want, Carson."

"I want us to be right again." And Carson finds he truly does. Except he also knows that just caring about someone is nae always enough, even when that someone is John Sheppard -- _especially_ when that someone is Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard, US Air Force and Atlantis' Military Commander. "I want us to be us again, but ..."

"But I'm still the one who gave the order to fire on Michael and the others."

"Aye," Carson whispers, his hands tightening into fists because he does nae know if the harshness in John's voice is anger or pain. Because he still does nae know after three years of friendship and most of one as lovers -- and because he is afraid to guess. "I know you did what you thought was needed to protect Atlantis, but you dinna even blink, John. Ronon… for Ronon the Wraith will always be the enemy and any of their deaths will be acceptable losses but he's --"

Carson lets his voice die so that he can take a deep breath. Take a huge chance.

"Is that how you saw the Afghanis and Iraqi's, John? Were even the civilians -- the women and the wee babes -- always the enemy?"

John whips his head up. There is no mistaking the deadened flatness of his eyes and thinned lips as anything but anger. "Is this really the discussion you want to have now, Carson?"

John's tone is anything but dead. It has dropped to a register that Carson normally hears only when John is aroused -- or when talking about Koyla and the Genii. Not even the Wraith invoke such a growl, well, except when Michael and his Queen had betrayed them and charged toward Earth, though Carson still thinks their real transgression to John was when they imprisoned Rodney and Ronon on the Hive Ship and not the threat they posed to Earth.

"I think maybe it is a discussion we need to be having," Carson holds his ground. "If you canna feel guilt --"

The distance between them disappears in the blink of an eye. "Fuck, Carson! If you have to ask?" He looks completely shattered for a moment, before one of a multitude of his masks snaps rigidly back in place. The one his CO probably saw right before shipping John off to the McMurdo base in Antartica.

"No, fuck _you_ , Carson. I'm not ever going to apologize for doing my job. Nor feel guilty for putting the safety of you, my friends and Atlantis or Earth over some Wraith." He's standing too close, too rigid, and Carson feels wretched in having earned this.

"I thought you understood what I was -- who I was." The tone has softened, although John's mask has not. "That being the Military Commander here means something more to me than obtaining a new rank." He turns and takes a step away, begins to pace.

"We've all had to make some difficult and uncomfortable decisions to survive, and maybe I don't always look beyond the most expedient, but fuck, Carson! Just what should I have done differently, even assuming I'd had the time?" he asks over his shoulder. "Hell, lets assume the Hive Ship that was days away instead of minutes. Should I have tried to relocate the ones who were still human at that point, assuming Rodney could even find another planet that didn't have access to a Stargate nor had an indigenous population? Maybe I should have gone ahead and risked the men under my command in trying to determine which Wraith weren't going to see them as their next Happy Meal --

"John," Carson begins, but John isn't stopping, isn't about to give in now that the opening has been presented to say all of the things they've been biting back for months --

"Should I have taken us down -- had _Rodney_ go down to the planet in the hopes that Michael and the others who had reverted hadn't already drained and kill off the rest?" He's facing Carson again, breaching the boundaries of personal space between them, fists and jaw clenched. "Should I have pinned my hopes on Michael somehow not having destroyed all of your retrovirus, or that you could synthesize more before the rest of them converted back, and maybe could not only create their 'here-we-are-come-get-us' beacon, but also maybe be able to establish full telepathic contact with other Wraith and pass on real information?" he ground out brutally. "Like hey, Atlantis didn't really self destruct. And boy, do we know the way to a planet where we'll dine like kings for a millennia! Tell me, Doctor Beckett, just what would _you_ have done differently?"

When put so baldly and to succinctly list all of the potential dangers … but, nay, dammit, Carson had needed to try! To be given the opportunity to fix things -- to heal things -- or to be the one to determine whether the patients could be saved.

"I would have continued to work on the retrovirus, John," he says quietly and with no heat, but still filled with a passion to have John understand. "I could have made it better, made it permanent --"

"We gave you three tries, Carson." The mask finally falls, leaving only the weariness and the pain and even a bit of incredulousness and confusion, all of which are more a punch to Carson's gut than are John's words.

"The first version nearly turned me into something even more primal than them. The second transformed Michael only long enough for his brethren to learn to hate and distrust him which, in turn, taught him to distrust and hate you on a personal level, instead of just viewing you as too frisky a food source. And the third time -- sure it worked well enough to get them to start killing each other, first on the Hive Ship as some tried to stave off the effects, and then encouraging them to out-and-out murder one of their own on the planet, just to keep what was happening to some of them secret. So what would potion number four have gotten us? New allies? Or maybe new friends, like the Hoffans?"

Carson is punching John even before he's realized he's turned his own hands into fists. Yet the bloody bastard doesn't look remorseful, doesn't even look the least bit sorry as he leans back on one hand from where he's landed on his arse and manipulates his jaw with the other.

"You know I have done every bloody thing I can to help with our survival here," Carson snarls and takes a step that puts him standing over John's legs, unconsciously continuing to flex and squeeze his fingers.

"Hey, so have I," John begins way too damn flippantly and makes no attempt to straighten from his sprawl.

This time though, it is Carson who isn't going to be interrupted. "What happened with Perna and the Hoffans, with you and the retrovirus, and Ellia and Michael -- you know very well that I never wanted any of that," he forces out. "I feel my guilt and remorse every single fucking day, yet my actions have only resulted in _inadvertent_ deaths, while yours --"

John is surging back to his feet, back into Carson's face, the fucking smirk back on his own. "Maybe that's because you're too much of a coward to take any actions without forcing Elizabeth -- or me -- to make the final decision."

"Like your decision to leave me on the planet with Michael?" Carson simply shoves this time, because John is still moving instead of braced, and he goes down again with a look and a bitten off yelp of surprise.

"Like you decided to send me to Lucius on M6H-491 _alone_?" He follows John down, straddles him and grabs John's wrists to slam them down at John's hips before John can retaliate.

"You won't let Rodney wander around even here in _Atlantis_ alone, but you leave and then send me, your _lover_ without your protection or even your companionship? I was drugged, John. I was tortured and then drugged again and you! Weren't! There!"

"I know." No smirk, no mask, just sorrow and remorse and every other emotion Carson has accused John of not being able to feel. "I know and I am so fucking sorry, Carson," John continues. "But you wouldn't say anything. You wouldn't even admit to _yourself_ much less to me that this is what you're really angry and hurt about --"

Carson lets go of John and is back flat on his own arse and hands before he can even catch his breath. "You dinna just orchestrate all of this for me! Oh, my fucking god, John, tell me you dinna --"

"Carson… Carson!" John slides to his knees and it is his turn to be holding onto wrists, although his clasp will nae be leaving the bruises that Carson has already caused. "Like you said, you were drugged and tortured by Michael, and then Lucius did it all over again, even if he didn't do it out of any particular maliciousness. You weren't dealing with it, wouldn't acknowledge even what Elizabeth or Kate or I -- hell, what even Rodney knew was happening! We know more occurred between you and Michael than what you've said. You're wallowing in guilt instead of coping with it, and for some reason you think that disagreeing or yelling or being fucking furious with me will somehow make me go away, despite the fact that my best friend is someone even _you_ can't stand to be around half the time, so you know I can't be bullied off. Jesus Christ! And I get accused of repressing everything!"

Somehow Carson is managing not to be hyperventilating, but he is so damn close. He suddenly has this picture of starting to hiccup like Novak does when she's nervous, and that, along with the stroking John is now doing up and down his arms, helps him steady his breathing into something that would nae be setting off alarms in his infirmary. "I can't stand people yelling and fighting, John," he admits somewhat helplessly.

"Or fussing and going out of their way to do something for you. I know, Carson. God, but I know!" John is now pulling Carson toward him, breathing his words and his understanding against Carson's trembling skin. "And I understand because, yeah, in many ways I'm the same. But maybe that's why we work. Maybe Atlantis is our own Island of Misfit Toys, where your fear of not being liked, Rodney's lack of social skills, Elizabeth's stunted emotions and my lifetime of repression fit. We've made a home here, found a family. We're all stronger, better people for --"

"But what if we're not?" Carson canna help in asking, then clutching back when John sighs and begins to pull away. "Okay, maybe we are, but what if it is nae enough?"

"Enough to what?" John asks back, now taking Carson's face between his hands. "Enough to survive? We've proven that it is time and time again. Yeah, that might change at any time, but don't let it do so because you've given up." Carson's face is studied for a moment, John's gaze as tender as his touch. "Or are you afraid it isn't enough to keep us together?"

Carson canna answer; he can only lower his eyes since he canna shake his head because of John's unrelentingly terrible, wonderful grip.

This earns him another sigh. "What is enough, Carson? What do you need from me to make you happy?"

"I dinna ken!" Carson cries out in anguish, and this time rocking back far enough to free himself so that he canna feel John's one pain through his skin. "First, I think we're happy, at least on our way to being happy, but then you tell me to date Laura because she's expressed her interest and because she's a woman and, therefore, normal. And when that dinna work and you and I try again, it's bloody brilliant, yet everything else we seem to become involved in turns to dust and ash." He's clutching his hands together, embarrassed to be so emotional, to be so doubtful and pessimistic. The Pegasus Galaxy is grinding him down though -- is changing them all.

"We've come so close to losing Atlantis," he is now whispering again, almost to himself, and watching his hands, looking at anything but John. "We've come so close to losing each other and now even Earth. Just finding ways to survive is taking away pieces of our souls. But now we have willingly given up much bigger pieces…. It's all just so out of control."

"Then take it back."

"What?" Carson's head raises so fast he fears he might have given himself whiplash.

"Take control back. Maybe you can't with the Wraith, with the SCG or Elizabeth or even with your own department, but you can here, now, with me."

There is no hint of a smirk; that John is nae serious. But surely he is nae offering… "Do you mean like domination games, like S & M? I certainly didn't come here tonight for sex, John." Carson knows he is blushing furiously now.

"If control is what you need, then I'm offering it to you." John is still looking so damn earnest. "There are many things in our lives that are out of our own control. What Michael did to you however, was something much more intensive. What he did was deeply personal; it was designed to break not just a foe, but you."

Carson can finally see he is not the only one who's been affected by what Michael did, can understand that what he saw as indifference and maybe even contempt was nothing of the kind. He's never given any thought that what had happened to him might have reminded John of something in his own past, or that his inability to be there for Carson was out of his own attempts to cope instead of from a soldier's callousness.

"And before you had any chance at all to deal and recover from that," John continues, "along comes Lucius and once again someone takes away everything that makes you … well, you." John looks remarkably young, not so much vulnerable, but more candid and expose than Carson thinks he's ever seen before. And just a wee bit hopeful.

"I know sex games won't fix everything, maybe not really anything, but it is something we can try, right?" Carson is given a deprecating smile and a shrug. "Or not, of course. It's your choice. Which is kinda my point."

"But domination, John?" Carson is shaking his head. The suggestion is armchair psychiatry at the best, could irreparably change things at the worse. Although he certainly canna say that he is nae interested.

"I dinna think…. I…. You'd let me top?" he has to ask. "Really top, like maybe I'd get off and would nae let you come in return?"

John looks startled as if he had nae really thought about that being a consequence of his offer, but mainly he looks amused at Carson's sudden enthusiasm. "Well, I was thinking more of maybe a little bondage, even some spanking --"

"No spanking. I've already hit you once tonight and I'll not be chancing hurting you more…." Of that Carson is adamant. "Do you have a safe word?"

The question earns him a raised eyebrow. "So that's a yes?" John asks instead of answering.

Carson takes a deep breath and holds it. He knows that playing games with bondage and domination will nae solve the greater hurts he is feeling, just as he can now also begin to admit that the state of their relationship really has nae been that big a factor in his on-going anger and depression. Certainly he regrets that their past closeness has nae been there, but he's as much to blame for refusing what John _had_ offered (in his own maladroit way). In deciding that John dinna care, Carson tried not to care in return. Only for him that meant avoiding John and burying himself in his work. Nae even giving John an opportunity to apologize or comfort or simply just be nearby. Even worse, Carson has tried to emulate John anyway, knowing that had Michael and Lucius done to John what instead they did to Carson, John would have simply locked his reactions up and not let it show that anything was affecting him until eventually, it really dinna. Yet Carson's core sense of self is centered on empathy, on determining and diagnosing a problem so that it can be healed. Ignoring even his own problems has been counterintuitive and self-destructive.

This chance for control is a chance for a wee spot of revenge, for payback against Michael and Lucius and even against John himself. Mainly, though, it is a tremendous gift. Not the actual opportunity to control John's actions or responses, to maybe even cause a little of the pain Carson has been feeling (hot though the idea of that is making Carson feel), but because of the absolute, unconditional trust John is bestowing upon him by offering. And that… aye, that could heal any number of hurts. He lets out his breath and nods. John looks relieved, a wee bit happy, but also a lot more amused. This gives Carson a moment's doubt that this is still all manipulation instead of a genuine offer. He then decides that if it is, well, obviously John still thinks that Carson is entitled to take it, and that thought turns into something more like annoyance, allowing Carson to find it very easy to move closer to the proper head space to be doing this.

Flex cuffs are part of the military's standard tactical gear, and Carson knows that in addition to his handgun, John keeps a combat vest in his quarters; too often he's been called upon to respond to an emergency in the dead of night or with a sense of immediacy, to give him the time to even go running down to the armory. With another partner or launching from another scenario, Carson would prefer to use something softer like silken ties or padded cuffs, but the nylon restraints will dig and mark just enough without actually causing physical damage.

And Carson knows just how damn good John looks in plastic restraints.

"Take off your shirt if you don't want to lose it," he calls back over his shoulder as he pulls out a couple of the nylon ties. "But leave your dog tags and pants on." Having been asleep in bed, John had already removed his socks and shoes. Carson spends a couple more minutes poking through the many pockets to see if he can find anything else that strikes his fancy, as well as to further focus himself into the proper mindset. He doesn't check to see if John is complying -- he can hear that John is doing something, and if John isn't going along with the program well….

Nay, no more doubts. John would nae have suggested and offered if he was nae serious. He uses his gene interface to dim the lights.

When Carson finally does turn around, John is shirtless. There is a growing flush of color that is really only obvious along the tips of his pointed ears thanks to a tan from the suns of many worlds that darkens the rest of his skin -- all over (as Carson has had the opportunity to observe both as a doctor and a lover). The black-rimmed, silvered metal tags gleam as they and his rapidly tightening, dusky nipples are showcased by the generous amount of body hair that covers John's bloody fine torso. Carson‘s eyes canna help but to follow the thickening trail of lush hair down below the waistband of the low and loose pants John's been sleeping, covering yet doing nothing to hide another sign of John's willingness to have them do this.

Neither of them say anything more as Carson moves back until he is standing directly in front of where John has remained kneeling, his crotch to John's face. He simply gives John a look and lets the plastic restraints dangle between them. Although John licks his lips (more in his telltale sign of consternation than lustful anticipation), John says nothing either and raises his arms, wrists already crossed.

For an instant Carson debates whether he should restrain John's arms behind his back, but having them in front offers him a few more possibilities, and the thought of John not being able to reach and touch in compliance with Carson's order rather than from a physical impossibility is much more appealing.

"You can touch only when I give you permission -- and talk only then too, although I will allow you to make non-verbal noises," he instructs as he fastens the cuffs and cinches them tight enough that John has no give without cutting into flesh. "If you need to struggle, you are nae allowed to actually hurt yourself. I will punish you appropriately if you be violating the first two rules, and your punishment if you be breaking the third will be me stopping, untying you and then leaving. Do you ken?"

John licks his lips again and opens his mouth but then pauses and raises his face so that he can meet Carson's stern gaze. ''Yesss…" he draws out.

Carson gives a brief nod in understanding. "I be thinking, Sir. You do nae say it often enough, and Master …Master does nae really fit either of us, I be thinking."

"Yes, Sir," John repeats without either the snap of over-enthusiasm or any true submission, but then Carson isn't expecting John to actually be submissive. Forcing John to accept Carson's control is part and parcel of what Carson is being gifted with. Enforcing his own control, by taking away John's.

No doubt they are both bloody idiots, and Carson can only hope that Kate never hears about this or she'll be pushing them to seek therapy with her for months.

Carson takes another step forward, not quite pushing against John chest with his knees, but his burgeoning cock does brush against John's lips and the wet tip of John's tongue that has come out once again. Before John takes the initiative to take it into his mouth, Carson grabs hold of John's hair in the back and yanks, taking John -- and himself -- by surprise. "What's your safe word, boy?" he asks harshly, letting the dark thrill curl around his spine, all too aware that John's quicken breaths are helping accelerate the dampness spreading across the front of his uniform and nae giving a damn.

"C..c-clown, Sir," John says with a hitch in his voice.

Carson has to wonder about that, but gives a quick nod of acknowledgement and lets a hint of approval come to his eyes. "Clown," he repeats, making sure he has heard it correctly.

John jerks a nod.

"If you say it I will stop what I am doing, but I will nae untie you, I will nae leave, unless that is what we both want."

John gives him another nod, licks his lips yet one more time; this time, Carson decides, finally being evidence of arousal. He growls to keep his own breathing from sounding nearly as frantic as John's, and pulls back on John's hair just a little more, until he can see the barest of winces and feel the jolt of movement that shakes through John's entire body.

Past sexual experience has shown Carson that John enjoys having his hair played with. Past observations and rendering medical treatment has given Carson a pretty good idea of just how high John's pain tolerance truly is, as well as having hinted that rough actions leading up to that threshold will bring about a flood of pleasure and endorphins.

Keeping John's head back and his neck exposed, Carson uses his other hand to unzip and finally free his erection, although he makes no move to actually remove his pants and briefs. His penis springs out to rest across John's chin and lips, but Carson keeps hold of it at the base and directs it away from the reaching tongue. He paints his pre-ejaculate instead across John's cheeks and his lower lip until John closes his eyes in acceptance that even in this he has no control and the tongue disappears back into his mouth.

"Good boy," Carson praises him while still making sure to sound somewhat condescending. It is a fine line he is taking here, having only third hand knowledge of what John's limits for something like this might really be due to some of the pornography John had brought along and shared.

Indeed, the main reason Carson has never suggested anything like this before is because of John's propensity to put everyone else's welfare before his own, and for the fear of triggering some kind of flashback or post traumatic stress incident. What John had gone through before coming to Atlantis is nae something they have ever discussed, perhaps because John knows that Carson would have read all of his performance and medical files in detail. Unfortunately the files contain only a bare recital of times and duration of incidents (including capture by the enemy), along with final evaluations by military doctors and psychiatrist that always granted John a return to duty and eventually flight status. Similar incidences have occurred since their arrival on Atlantis, although, fortunately John has nae sustained any serious injury or lasting damage or injury -- at least physically. Unfortunately, as John will only see Kate when he is forced to, Carson just doesn't know if there is any major _mental_ trauma waiting to rear its ugly head, and up until now, has nae been willing to test things and find out.

Still, Carson figures a little humiliation will be acceptable -- at least in the form of taunting, since that is often the way John and Rodney communicate their friendship with one another. He also has to wonder if John is getting a bit of his own out of this, instead of just acceding to Carson's needs, as if ever there was a man who might yearn to occasionally cede all control …

John is keeping his eyes close and remaining passive, letting Carson move his head hither and yon. He plays for a bit, further glistening John's face, but such passivity is not quite what Carson finds he be wanting. This time he pushes John's head forward, pushes his penis forward too until he's forced his way into John's mouth and back against John's throat. At this John's eyes fly open and he chokes a wee bit before managing to relax enough to accept what Carson already knows he can take. From personal experience and a great deal of pleasure, Carson knows that John enjoys (and is very good at) giving head.

He will nae last long, though, if he stays down John's throat. And while he'd love nothing more than to play with John all night (maybe for most of the entire forty-eight hours of their down-time), he also knows the only reason John hasn't already crashed and burned in exhaustion is because they are both currently overdosing on adrenalin and the heightened emotions of their initial confrontation. Carson does nae intend to draw things out for too long, but neither does he plan on just coming immediately and calling it a night. He has a responsibility to show John that his offer is nae being wasted or downplayed. Which means Carson is going to have to take care in keeping both their arousals ramped up.

Which means he better concentrate just as much at keeping John on edge as he is concentrating on his own pleasure.

"You know you nae be allowed to come until I tell you," because this is nae a rule Carson remembered to spell out with the others, and John is certainly perverse enough to call him on it despite the intent of letting Carson be in control.

John nods because he cannot answer in any other way, and he chokes again from the movement. There is now a hint of tears pooling through his lashes that feeds Carson's arousal as much as the feel of John's mouth around his erection. He pulls back though, and stops pumping his hips, but does nae remove his penis from John's mouth, does nae release his tight hold in John's hair. For a moment they just both breathe deeply, reaching for a bit of calm and taking the opportunity to actually absorb that they have done and are doing instead of both just being swept along by their reactions.

Carson can tell his penis is heavy on John's tongue, that it feels thick and tumid as John can really only pant around it. Carson's lack of movement is nae offering any relief either. John canna lick, can only kneel there and hold it -- and suck. Which Carson commands him to do, then offers encouragement and praise for John's enthusiasm by ghosting his free fingers over the rhythmic hollows appearing in John's cheeks.

"Do you have any idea what this feels like, what you feel like?" Not normally one for talking dirty -- for talking much at all during sex -- Carson canna help himself this time, the wonder and the newness and the _difference_ being so much more than he expects. "I could just stand here and have you do nothing John; just stand here and look at you on your knees, your eyes wide and wet, your chest heaving, and your hands bound helplessly in front of you. So fucking pretty, so terribly wonderfully vulnerable."

The choke and jolt John gives this time has little to do with his penis Carson is pretty sure.

"It would take nary the barest of touches before I could come, you know. Well, certainly, I know. Because I've done it, John. Me and Rodney, and probably half this damn base."

John chokes again and this time stops sucking. His eyes are growing impossibly wider at the implication and Carson laughs softly.

"Och, you dinna know about the security tape of you that got circulated after that horrible business with Thalen and Phoebus? You were nae on your knees, but Teyla certainly had you bound and vulnerable." Carson pulls out completely this time, because John's is near to hyperventilating and if he chokes now, he really might not be able to breathe.

"Rodney says he's only gotten off by picturing what Teyla could have done to you then." Carson moves around to John's back and kneels down behind him, leaning over John's shoulder and just whispering his words into John's ear. He knows John is so close to saying something, sees the denial being formed and forced silent. A part of him wants John to break here, wants to be able to _punish_ but it's too soon and he knows John can take so much more.

"Rodney's favorite fantasy is to imagine himself held in your place, while Teyla binds him and strips them both." Carson releases John's hair and now trails both hands down John's heaving sides and around John's stomach to push his fingers under the waistband of John's pants. One hand drags John's pants down to his knees while the other raises back up to lift the dog tags from around John's neck. Somehow John still manages not to say anything that could be called words, but Carson knows he is holding on only by dent of pride. The sounds are something like an angry growl, something that includes a whimper and a protest and hot, horrified denial. Carson isn't sure whether John's more mortified than aroused; whether John really believes that Carson is telling the truth or is simply keeping the scene going.

"Even he admits," Carson continues unrelentingly, "that seeing her have her way with you would be a wicked good show." John's penis is still erect and dripping and Carson gets a full body shudder out of John when he snags the dog tags beneath John's scrotum and gives just a little tug. John's head then drops back against Carson's shoulder as the rest of him collapses back against Carson's body until Carson is all that is holding him upright.

"But in _my_ preferred fantasy, you're bound as you were, and it's Ronon instead of Teyla stripping away all of your clothes and defenses. Have you ever seen Ronon hard, John?" Carson presses with his words even as he is looping the chain of the dog tags around and around John's scrotum before carefully splitting the sac with one metal loop to spread John's testicles apart. The rest of the chain he winds up and around John's shaft, occasionally flicking the edges of actual tag across the crown before nudging the rounded corner of the rubber silencer into John's slit.

"Hae you ever imagined what it would be like to hae that pole up your arse? T' hae it pounding int' you, splitting you near in half? Or it being forced down your throat?" Carson drags one set of fingers up John's extended throat while keeping the other around John's bound penis and beginning to squeeze it in a tight, rhythmic pattern. His own penis is throbbing and bobbing on its own, spreading moisture across the small of John's back as he pulls John even closer.

"Not only would you be choking," which is pretty close to the sounds John's now making without anything obstructing his mouth, "but most likely it would split your lips, maybe even dislocate your jaw." A quick rimming of a finger tip around the fullness of John's lips and then Carson is thrusting all four fingers into John's mouth. John gags and sucks and whines deep in his throat, his body and penis bucking against Carson's relentless grips. But still he doesn't come, somehow manages to hold on --

"Shall I call him in right now, John? Maybe nae just him, but your whole team? Watch them spread you wide, Teyla bouncing on your bound cock while she comes and comes and you canna? See if you can take both Rodney and me in your mouth at the same time while Ronon plows your arse, first with his cock and then with his fucking huge fist?"

It's too much for Carson this time when John convulses against him again. He tears his fingers from John's mouth and pushes them both over, releasing John's penis and dragging at John's bound hands to make sure John catches himself against the floor before thrusting two of his sopping fingers into John's arsehole. Spit really is nae enough, but John's pushing himself back against Carson's fingers and so Carson wanks himself a couple of times to release more pre-ejaculate even though his penis is already pretty well-coated. He spreads the new moisture and then switches fingers with penis fast enough that what might have been a protest from John turns into a broken cry and hiss as Carson's entry burns and tears at them both.

The pain only makes it better, as do John's denials and Carson's name spilling from John's lips in between pants and moans -- absolutely nothing there sounds like "clown". Maybe John has simply become overwhelmed and has forgotten the no speaking rule, but Carson more thinks that John is doing it deliberately since the dog tags are unwinding themselves from John's penis without Carson pulling them tight, and still John holds back from his orgasm.

Carson growls at this exhibition of control, at the though of being the one to finally break it. He reaches for the tube of lotion he'd found in John's vest, squeezing it until it explodes between his hands. He then reaches down and begins wanking John with a brutal, punishing pace, the chain of the dogtags now completely loose, but still digging in with every hand movement. Carson moves his own body agonizingly slowly, drawing his penis out until only his tip is still sheathed. He slathers another handful of lotion over his own shaft before grinding back into John, mercilessly deep. Keeping the counter rhythm going, Carson actually pulling completely out a couple of times only to slam back in, tugging at John's balls and squeezing the base of John's penis every time John draws up and is just about to shoot.

Carson canna keep things balanced thusly for too long. He lets the desperation build up in them both and then gives into his own needs without warning and damn near shakes them both apart.

"Carson!"

"Nay!" he roars and still pounds although he's spent, denying John and letting go because John has been talking; because Carson wants to; because he _can_ ; and because John can do nothing about it while his hands are bound and he is supporting both their weight with stiffened-yet-trembling muscles.

Once more Carson is moving with the speed of a trauma surgeon, switching penis for fingers and stabbing with the precision of the doctor that he is. John is nae one of those men who can orgasm from prostate stimulation, but it does keep him screaming and Carson figures he can listen to and keep John begging like this for _hours_. It makes him wonders, when he finally will deign to relent, just how many orgasms he'll be able to coax out of John, and in how short a time? How many before John's milked and only dry-ejaculating, before his screams are just hoarse, wordless pleadings.

"Och, you stupid, senseless bugger." The sudden image in Carson's mind is nae John begging, but himself.

Carson immediately stills his fingers and sets his other hand to making soothing circles on John's tremulous flank, trying to comfort and calm them both.

Clown, indeed! How could Carson have ever been thinking that John would safeword? When this is a man who's never met a dangerous mission he would nae volunteer for to keep someone else from having to, and who's the first to jump in front a bullet or a wraith hand for people he dinna even know, much less for a friend -- for his lover. Carson knows John would do absolutely anything to keep him from experiencing any hurt.

Except John had nae. He had nae been able protect Carson from Michael or Lucius --

Aye, guilt and remorse both, and now penance.

Because Carson had demanded John show contrition.

He eases his fingers out so very carefully. John's quiet now, except for the terrible harsh breathing that just might be sobs. While John is still erect, Carson has no doubt that it's because of brutal stimulation he'd been meting out and nae from any lustful desire left in John.

"Come back," he coaxes, gently pulling and taking John's weight again against his own thighs and chest so that he can get John down and then rolled over supine. John's combat knife is within a stretched reach, and Carson eases it out of its sheath and rests the tip under where the restraints have stretched a little from John's involuntary flexing against them. He'll need treatment, maybe only some ointment to hydrate the abraded skin, but maybe even some bandages. To say the least, Carson is nae sure how either of them are going to explain that should something show beyond John's watch and wrist bands.

Not important now.

Carson sheathes the knife again and tosses it back onto the nightstand. John's nae really moving other than shuddering in body and breaths. It's up to Carson to pull John's wrists apart and he begins to rub briskly at the flesh above the livid marks to quicken the restoration of full circulation. He wants to kiss and hold John, to wipe at the tears that now spill behind tightly closed eyes and disappear amidst sweat-soaked strands of hair, but there are things Carson needs to check first, as a doctor before the lover.

John's dog tags are draped across his groin, caught up in a twist of metal but thankfully no longer tight against any part of his flesh. There are little beaded indentations and bruises, red and white marks both, but nowhere is the skin actually broken and the abrasions are much less deep than the ones around John's wrists. Carson frees him here too and uses his tongue to ease away the hurts and the pre-ejaculate that has matted the surrounding hair in Mandelbrot patterns. He licks cleans the patches between hip and thigh, between groin and thigh and then lets the warm, moist flat of his tongue rasp across John's swollen ring.

John canna come from prostate stimulation alone, but he can from rimming. Yet Carson also moves one of his hands over one of John's, to have them both begin to wank John's penis in slow, careful undulations that match the rhythm of Carson's tongue. John's body ratchets back into tense lines and rigid planes, but his breathing is becoming deep instead of frantic. Carson starts alternating between soothing swipes and stimulating stabs of his tongue against the quivering and musky nerve endings, letting John quicken and tighten the pace of their hands. Finally John is flying, is falling and Carson is there to catch and bring him down.

Angry at discovering that he is still wearing his uniform, Carson strips quickly, efficiently, and uses his shirt to wipe at the ejaculate that now stripes John's body. Next he uses his tongue and fingers again, this time against the sweat and the tears as he draws himself up John's body. John is so limp and compliant that Carson need only to tangle their legs and twist his hips to get them each rolled onto their sides. While the bed would be much more comfortable, he knows John is nae up to moving yet, and Carson decides that manhandling him up there would be counter-productive. By using his foot he snags at the blanket and draws it down and then close enough to reach behind himself and grab it to cover them both.

"I'd love to say you should nae have done that," Carson begins, but then backs off when he recognizes the expressions of concern and discomfort that are now overtaking John's face.

"Nay, we could talk this to death, love, and maybe we should have found a better way, but it is done. It's more communicating then we've done in months, and we'd both be lying if either of us says we are sorry."

"On the other hand," Carson adds just a bit more sharply even as he brings a hand up to cup against John's damp cheek. "On the other hand, I dinna ever want you to accept or let either of us use sex as a form of punishment again. Tell me I'm being a dunderhead and closing you out. Just as I will call you a prick, if that's what you're being. We'll shout just as you and Rodney do, and maybe I'll even find myself punching you again. But no fighting and hurting with sex."

John nods cautiously and then shows Carson absolutely everything he is feeling, the guilt and remorse as well as the love and trust. In return Carson lets John see his doubts and his fear, but also his resolve and hope and his own abiding love and trust before tilting in to exchange a slow, soulful kiss. When they draw back Carson canna help but offer the most hesitant of grins.

"That's nae to say we canna explore a wee bit of roughness now again. If you want that or even some pain in our sex, I'm thinking that after this, I can accommodate you."

And was nae that just one more surprise on a day of surprises.

"If you enjoyed the bondage or denial, or any of a handful of other kinks, we can try again and maybe I'll even offer up a few of my own," he continues and gives John a peck on the nose. "But _only_ because it is something we might want and enjoy and nae because either or both of us are seeking some sort of absolution. I appreciate that you are willing and able to protect me under most circumstances, and it was wrong of me to blame you when you could nae -- Nay, love," he stops John from arguing or protesting with a single finger to John's lips. "You ceded control to me tonight, and part of that means that I can admit and take responsibility for my own mistakes. Michael was just as much my victim as I was his. We can all be sorry that any of it happened. We'll do what we can to make sure something like that does nae be happening again. You owe me nothing but your caring."

This might not always be enough, but it's what they have, what they can give, and such honesty between them is the one thing they can always control, even if they have to show their masks to everyone else.

They would just have to make that be enough.

\-- Finis --


End file.
